


A Window (Short Story)

by QClueingForLooksQ



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Inspiration, Jesus - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Window, religious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QClueingForLooksQ/pseuds/QClueingForLooksQ
Summary: If you read my collection of poems, then you will have seen thise, but because this is much longer than a poem, I thought it deserved it's own place.





	A Window (Short Story)

December 6, 2016

 

A window, it's crown molding white and peeling revealing the unoiled oak inside, sat closed to keep out large gusts of cold air. Despite it's job, it felt bad for the little, nippy whispers that would brush up agaisnt it's panes in a soft carressing fasion. And slowly, the small breezes would leak in causing what some would label as a draft. It is as if the window knows what is allowed and what is not; That it will shake but not break when wind rams into it and whips the glass as a storm sobbed down on the earth, such as a child going through a temper-tantrum, but secretly lets a refreshing tickled of the ear slip it's way through.

Floating dust, illuminated by the exclusive sunshine only perturbed by the cross pattern on the glass, would wish to be closer to what they believed their creator was. For those who were lucky, they would catch a lively ride by one of the grateful whispers and end up accumulating on the glass like a winter coat,reveling in the warmth that had been sucked into the transparent material, but slowly growing gruyere as they realized they'd never meet the sun. For the rest, they would fall upon the windowsill, dull and brown, without any hope. But in the end, they would all be taken away by one swift movement as the higher-archy saw them unfit to clutter the only way for it's precious light's entrance with grime. And the crest-fallen would dissapear for a while, their youth holding them back as they wallowed in self-pity and guilt.

But all would be still when a strange entity would slowly cross the room. The only sound would be the wooden boards, turned sour with age and resent at having to hold such weight instead of escorting the rumination in, protesting under the entity's covered feet. It would then sit on a letter bench that squeaked everytime in surprise, and run it's fingers over it's precious beast. Glossy black skin, white flags and golden, clawed feet; newcomers would always open with little protest, sometimes making a sound of delight. One more touch, one mor step, and it would sing. No creature could sing as beautiful, but it was not solely based on how high or how low it could reach. It was blessed with the talent of being able to harmonize with itself, sometimes coming out as planned while others would happen as wonderful mistakes. And through it's teeth, stories would pour out like a waterfall, resonating and shaking it's body with the pure passion, quivering with anticipation of it's next tone. Some stories were lilting like a lullaby, played on days when the sun had set and dimmed the room, causing great comfort to those who feared the impending night. Others were loud, heart-racing and clashing like symbols, power held behind every sound, usually sung when the sky tried to imitate it, weeping at it's beautiful symphonies. But there were ones that were somber, minor notes that followed the entity's hands with longing, calling out to it's creator to bring the precious light and make them the same.

Although, today the entity was not pleased, though the dust and the wind and the light listened in anticipation for what the beast had to say. A quiet sigh and a look around the dim room, and it stood up once more. All knew what would happen, and as it passed by them, some would shrink back while others would reach out just to touch the controller of their music. On days such as these, it's face was cloudy, and it's hand reached out to the cause of it's dismay. A lamp, a yellow, artificial luminescence, made a halo-like glow in the dark corner of the room. But with one touch, it was gone, leaving a cold, mechanical inside to sit, useless. The dust who had mistaken it for the light cried out and screamed, the lack of warmth causing the air around them to grow harsher and faster around them. The entity's face, though unseen, looked down upon the decietful object with an almost sad expression and turned away.

The window had been cluttered again, the old dust still persisting despite how long it had come and gone, being turned away time and time again. And when the entity padded over, the room held it's breath as it reached it's hand out once more. But this time, the air wasn't thick with condemnation as the light bathed the entity's facel it was as if arms were outstretched, something warm and inviting hidden behind th window, beckoning to those who wish to see if there is something more. The brass switch, which, no matter how hot the light was or how much grime caked it or how hard the wind battered, it would not open except by the entity's wishes. And that is what it wished, wanted and needed. The chain holding the window closed broke and with one more push, light came through in a burst. Wind flowed in, rustling the room whie joyful dust flew outside, finally free. The entity smiled, breathing in the refreshing air, and stepped back after a moment. A subtle sound now filled the room, winged creatures sining their own song of praise in the trees, ever joyful, ever sweet.

Once again, the bench yelped, unknowing of the descending weight upon it. The entity sighed a second time, but it was one of relief, it's work done. It spoke three words that most could not understand, it's voice quiet but fierce. And the beast sensed this.

Out the window, it's voice rose above all, and the world...it rejoiced...

~******~

Whenever I feel happy or inspired, I imagine a window much like this one in a dimly lit, light green room. When I'm not at my best, there's a window in a brown room, dull and boring with plastic shades, and I feel unsettled byt even imagining it now. Bear in mind, the first two paragraphs or so were me just trying to describe my window...and look what it turned into.

People can interpret this many ways, and as my LA teacher once told me poet Robert Frost said, "If I wanted you to know the meaning, I'd tell you." Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
